the only one that still lives in the end
by moodybluemood
Summary: A series of progressively longer chapters centered around the theme of only one person still remaining alive at the end of Vento Aureo.
1. Diavolo is

...And as he surveys the wreckage of his empire, he picks up his daughter, her body cold, limp in his arms.

" Well fought, Trish. You proved you truly are my daughter. How unfortunate. You have my apologies. In another life, perhaps…ah, well."

He hears the sound of distant sirens but such mundane matters don't concern the emperor.

"Still, you never had a chance, but you did your best."

And the city lies in ruins and his Doppio is dead and he does not know it, but this is not a triumph but the beginning of the end for him.


	2. Doppio is

…or maybe not.

Doppio waits by the phone. Doppio waits for orders. Doppio waits for the boss.

He was never meant to run Passione. He was meant to run errands, do all the things the boss couldn't do. It was easier when he was the one taking care of Diavolo, when his other half planned and plotted, all the things Doppio couldn't do.

Doppio understands who he is a lot better now, but he doesn't understand this. He pretends he does but it's a lie, just like he lies about where he came from and what became of Buccellati's friends. It was easy to take control of Passione because everyone in Naples loved him. And after all, Doppio understands who he is better now. Passione _always_ belonged to him anyway, didn't it? He just didn't know who he was.

So he lies. If he lies and says he knows what he's doing, then maybe someday he'll _actually_ know what he's doing and it won't feel like he's just trying to imitate a dead man.

But even still, Doppio waits.

The phone never rings. The orders never come. He _is_ the boss. And he feels this borrowed body die around him.


	3. Giorno is

...and he still holds onto his boyhood dream.

But it's hard. It's _so_ hard sometimes.

He knew going in that he might die. He knew going in that other people might die. He thought he was fully prepared for this possibility but when he reached the carnage of Abbacchio's body, he realized that he was only a boy and he really, _really_ wasn't prepared at all.

He sent the devil to hell and took his throne. He wouldn't let his team die in vain. Don Giovanna controls all of Passione and has turned it into something better than it was before.

He was only a boy. He's a man now, older than Buccellati will ever be, and the night is dark and the wind howls outside his window, and he wonders if hell is real and it is this.

They were all just _boys_. And Giorno only knew them for a short span of days but he closes his eyes and he sees them in flashes: Buccellati and Abbacchio laughing together in the kitchen when they thought no one could see them, Fugo and Narancia at the table solving math problems, Mista explaining why Karen Carpenter was objectively the greatest musician, Trish looking out the window with Giorno in silence.

He doesn't remember Diavolo's face anymore. It's been too long. Giorno suspects that's what the former boss would have wanted and he hates it.

He doesn't think much about that man anymore, but he _does_ think about Buccellati's gang. They lived and they died and everything Giorno does, he does so they didn't die in vain.

He remembers. And he mourns. And Passione is better than it was but it can _always_ be better. And he still holds onto his boyhood dream, but it's _so_ hard sometimes during the night.


	4. Mista is

...and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He lives his life riding the wind and going where it takes him, for better or for worse. Mista doesn't want to chose where the storms take him. You're supposed to close your eyes, hope for the best, and see what happens.

So that's what he does. Ride the wind. He buys a motorcycle, keeps driving until he runs out of road, and then he books a flight as far as possible.

He could try to take over the gang. He could _try_. He doesn't.

"Now what I wanna know is how the hell an Italian kid like you winds up slinging bullets in Nevada," his partner in crime asks one day.

They're on a stakeout but they don't expect to see their mark for awhile yet. He's been taking bounties with the old cowboy for some years: some legal, most not. He's not a good man and he's not a smart man, but hell, neither is Mista. They work well enough together and they get paid enough to support Mista's lifestyle of drifting from town to town, so he can't complain.

"Don't you got _people_?"

Mista closes his eyes, fishes out a cigarette, lights it, exhales smoke. He knows it's not good for him but he already knows how he's going to end up. The bullets are going to catch up to him before the tobacco does.

"I don't know, Hol Horse," he says through gritted teeth. "Maybe you can tell me how the hell an old Texan man gets shot in the head doing merc work and decides to still do it anyway."

"Hey, fair enough, fair enough."

He cracks the window open just enough to vent the smoke out of the van.

"I'm gonna die doing this shit, Mista," the cowboy says, voice low. Mista concentrates on the building, watches for his target, does not meet his gaze.

"I'm too old to learn anything else. I'm _tired_. That's why. Thing is, you don't think you are but you're a kid. You're too damn young to give up on yourself like this."

"I don't have people anymore," he says and why won't he just shut up, he's not his _father_ , he's just a shitty old man that doesn't know how to leave well enough alone.

"I _did_ , they died."

"Be your own people, then."

And Mista rides the wind.


	5. Polnareff is

…and he goes west to Florida. Goes to Jotaro. He doesn't know where else to go. Polnareff _has_ no place else to go.

He's been trapped in Italy so very long that in any other circumstance, he'd be ecstatic to leave, but he gets off the plane and he tastes bile at the back of his throat.

He should have known how this would end. Things never end happy for him. They always fall to pieces, cut away.

Sherry. Avdol. Kakyoin. Even the fucking _dog_. And now this.

"…You did your best. Given the circumstances, you did your best," Jotaro says over drinks. Even when he was a teenager, he was not a person given to many words; he still isn't. It used to frustrate him but right now, he appreciates it. He's extremely fond of Joseph Joestar and he _is_ excited to see him again later, but he's glad he isn't here right now. Joseph pokes and prods and Polnareff doesn't think he could handled him right now.

His whiskey is probably good. Polnareff doesn't taste the flavor, just the fire.

"Given the circumstances…"

The bar is nearly empty at this hour, the bar is nearly silent, and it's still too damn loud.

"Jotaro…"

No, he's mistaken. The bar is fine. It's just his head that's too loud. It's hard to tell the difference. He feels like he's coming out of his head.

"Jotaro, they were _kids_. All of them, they were just _kids_."

The room is shaking.

 _No_.

No, he's mistaken. _He's_ shaking. It's hard to tell the difference. He's coming out of his head and he feels like he's floating five inches to the left of himself.

"I don't care if he was Dio's son, I don't _care_ , Jotaro, he was a good kid, he was a _real good kid_ , and if I did my best given the circumstances, he wouldn't be dead right now. They were _all_ real good kids."

And Jotaro says nothing because there is nothing to be said, nothing that _can_ be said to make it better. Star Platinum can do a lot but it can't bring back the dead, no matter how much he wishes it could.

So Jotaro stays silent. He listens. He owes that to his old friend, his last remaining friend. You can't really say anything that takes the sting out of being the last person alive. He knows that far too well.

"He was younger than _Kakyoin_. A couple of them, a couple of them were Kakyoin's age or younger."

Someone else in the bar turns to look at him, turns to stare as the dam breaks and the tears fall, but with a glare from Jotaro, they mind their own damn business.

"Jotaro, I'm so sick of dead kids."

" _Polnareff_ …"

There's something in Jotaro's voice quavers for a moment but he does not cry because Jotaro has no more room in his heart left for tears. He _can't_ cry.

"Polnareff…Jean Pierre…I am too."

 _He should have known_.


	6. Narancia is

...and he goes back to school like he said he would because Narancia Ghirga is many things, especially if they're rude, but he's not a _liar_.

He'd do a lot of things but he wouldn't lie to his friends.

And it's okay, school. It's not easy because he's missing several years of education and it turns out he's got ADHD _and_ dyscalculia, but he graduates high school, graduates college. And he does his best because it's what Fugo would have wanted.

So he goes home, back to Naples, and he doesn't move back in with his father because that man has nothing to do with him anymore, thank god, but he takes over Buccellati's house. He thinks that maybe it's not actually legal to just declare ownership of a dead man's place and, at very least, he should sign some paperwork or pay someone rent, but he moves in without issue and no one ever asks him for money.

Mista used to tease him because his room was so messy but he keeps the house clean and tidy because he'd do a lot of things but he wouldn't make a mess of Buccellati's house.

And he makes it his own because it's what Buccellati would have wanted.

Abbacchio told him once to never drink, never become a cop, and to never let any assholes make him feel bad for wearing lipstick. He didn't wear it much then but he wears it now, black like Abbacchio. He found the first tube of it in Buccellati's nightstand and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste, and he only realized when he got to the end that it probably belonged to Abbacchio. He drinks wine with dinner sometimes but never to excess, but he's never had the urge to become a cop, so he hopes Abbacchio is proud of him.

He bought a record player. He used to make fun of Mista for listening to old records, used to call him a grandpa, but it turns out he was onto something. Music _does_ sound better on vinyl. He pretends sometimes he owns the record player because it's trendy now because it's hard to explain that he owns a record player because all his friends are dead. He mostly listens to rap but on Mista's birthday, he digs out his copy of _Close To You_ and he listens.

His English isn't so good but he understands now why Mista liked Karen Carpenter so much. And if Mista were here, he'd probably tease Narancia for spending so much time making fun of his taste in music only to wind up liking it.

He didn't have the chance to talk to Trish much. He buys French mineral water sometimes and it _does_ taste better.

Narancia didn't know Giorno very long. He liked him but he didn't know him as well as he _could_ have, as well as he would have _liked_ to have known the boy, so he doesn't know if Giorno would have understood why he didn't choose to take over the gang or if he would have been proud of the fact that he walked away from it all and let it collapse on itself. He doesn't know, but wherever Giorno is, he hopes he understands. He hopes he's at peace.

He goes to work.

Starts a family.

 _Lives_.

And he does it for them and he does it for himself, and yes, he misses them all, and yes, it hurts sometimes, but he owes it to them to live the normal life none of them got to experience.

 _Narancia lives_.


	7. Fugo is

...and he wants to scream, so he does, screams until his throat burns and his chest hurts, and then he continues screaming until he can't anymore. When he can't scream, he shatters a mirror like he's breaking a capsule, and when he realizes that he just broke Buccellati's mirror, that's when he finally cries.

His tears burn. His face is red as his suit. Why _him_?

And Fugo cries until he's angry and then he cries _because_ he's angry, bitter tears. How could they do this to him? He _trusted_ Buccellati but now he's dead, Abbacchio's dead, Mista's dead, Giorno's dead, Trish's dead, Narancia's dead, and they're _all_ dead, _all of them_ , so that's what you get for trusting the adults in your life.

He's always been the smart one, hasn't he? That's his _thing_ , isn't it? He's smart and he's angry and he's angry because people forced him to be the smart one, angry because he trusts people and then they go and hurt him.

This is how things always end for him. He should have known.

And Fugo cries until he can't anymore, cries until he's not angry and he's not sad, just existent.

Fugo exists.

And then he's not angry at Buccellati anymore but he feels guilty that he was angry at Buccellati in the first place. It's not like he _chose_ to die. If given the choice, most people would prefer to live. Buccellati didn't _choose_ to abandon him. Someone else chose it for him without his input, without Fugo's input. Diavolo just _decided_ it for him.

Fugo really hates it when bastards like that _decide_ things for people.

And then he feels guilty because he chose not to go on the boat with the others and who knows, if he had stayed with the rest, maybe they wouldn't be dead right now. They might have died still but they might have lived.

He came back. In the end, he came back, but it wasn't enough. Diavolo killed Narancia and Fugo killed Diavolo, melted the skin right off his worthless face, revealed just how sick and disgusting the man really was, but it wasn't enough.

They died.

He didn't.

Fugo wonders if maybe he should have. _Should_ he have? Shouldn't he know the answer to this? He's only useful for his intelligence, he should know-

 _No_.

Buccellati told him otherwise. He appreciated his intellect but he didn't force him to be the smart one. _That_ was his parents. He's not thankful for that, will never be thankful towards them, will never speak to them again. Buccellati accepted him for his faults, worked him through his trauma, showed him positives within himself he never knew he possessed.

' _I'll bring out the best in you._ '

Fugo realizes his father is dead.

Buccellati is dead.

Buccellati is dead and Fugo is alive.

And when he can't scream anymore, when he can't cry anymore, when he's caught between guilt and nothingness, that's when Fugo gets to work. _Someone_ has to. The mission isn't finished yet, isn't it? Fugo's not going to fail Buccellati by half assing a job.

Fugo's a good son. Other people didn't appreciate it but his real father did.

It's not hard for him to take over Passione. His takeover is swift, methodical. He cleans house, exposes human scum for what they really are by revealing the sickness festering within their hearts, and the people of Italy are thankful for the gangster prince in the shadows.

He does it for Buccellati. For Narancia. Mista. Abbacchio. Even Giorno and Trish. He does it to prevent other kids from ending up like him. He does it because he quavered at the boat, turned his back on suffering, and has resolved to never do that ever again. He does it for his father.

And the don does it well.

And one day it's years later and Pannacotta wakes up and realizes that somewhere along the way, he started to feel in control of himself. He started to feel _clean_. And he realizes that he finally doesn't hate himself, that maybe he even _likes_ himself.

And yes, he cries sometimes. _Screams_. But not as often. He hopes he made Buccellati proud.


	8. Bruno is

…and he picks up the pieces as best as he can because _someone_ has to and it may as well be him. It _has_ to be him.

Tries to glue them back together, metaphorically. Or perhaps more accurately, zip things together so precisely you don't notice the gaps. And it works, after a fashion. He reforms Passione. He excises the rot, throws open the windows to bring the light in. He ends the drug trade and when he's put that to rest, he examines Passione and knows that to help people, to _actually_ help people, there's so much more that he needs to end.

So he ends what deserves death, turns it into something shining and new, and when he's got that done, it's debatable if you can even rightfully call Passione the mafia anymore.

Cut away the bad parts. Zip the rest back together. _They_ don't notice the gaps. _He_ does.

Giorno Giovanna brought him back to life after he died a slow death trying to ignore the reality of what Passione was doing to the people, trying to ignore the reality of what it was doing to his own heart. Bruno buried Giorno in a sunny spot full of flowers and birdsong, and he planted a myrtle tree by his grave. It blooms the color of the ladybugs on his jacket. And he tried to ignore the fact that he was the only one at his funeral but he _couldn't_.

He buried them all. His family sleeps amidst flowers and forest, and Passione keeps him busy but never too busy to sit a spell among the blooms and talk. He waters the plants, tell them about his day, tells them about his plans for the future.

He planted oranges for Narancia. He picks them, candies the peels, dips them in chocolate, takes them as a treat sometimes to one of the schools Passione funds for at-risk children. It's a cause that's very dear to him because he knew Narancia, he knew Pannacotta, he knew Giorno, and he knew how the adults in their lives failed them.

He knows how _he_ failed them. Over the years, he's thought about adopting children but then guilt twists his gut. His kids are dead. He's one of the most dangerous men in the world, one of the most targeted men in the world, and he could not live with himself for endangering any more children.

Wild strawberries grow on Pannacotta's grave. He didn't plant them. They just appeared one day and he took it as a sign, so he does his best to protect them, to nurture them, to ensure they spread, and they have. It feels wrong to eat them but he knows that the rabbits do.

He planted marigolds for Mista. He did it because they remind him of the color of his stand, but later, after he had planted them, he read about their connotations in other parts of the world. They guide the dead. He wonders.

Trish is not buried in the field of flowers. She's buried alongside her mother. Even still, he planted vibrant peonies in her honor, the exact shade of her hair. He picks them, takes them to her grave, offers some as an apology to Donatella for not protecting her girl well enough from the devil that was her father.

And for Abbacchio, for _Leone_ , for the man he loves so well, loves dearly and strong, unfaded by the passage of years, the man he loves and the man he lost, he planted a field of lavender as an apology. He keeps bees now and they love the fragrant blossoms. When he gathers the honey and stirs it into his tea, it's as sweet as his lips.

And when the wind blows through the field of lavender, the bees dance and for just a moment, Bruno closes his eyes and he's twenty again and in his proper body and Leone, eyes full of laughter, leans in close to whisper into his ear a scandalous secret he's uncovered about a rival gangster, now probably long dead, before pressing a kiss to his jawline and he smells his perfume all around him, lavender.

For himself, he planted lilies, white as bone. Bruno buried himself when he buried the rest, buried himself next to Leone. He wears another man's body now, the body of the man who killed everyone he loves, the body of the man who killed _him_.

He used to hate it, used to hate looking at himself, used to hate _himself_. He accepts it now. It is what it is. He can't change it but he can keep on living. He can grow old.

So Bruno tends to Passione and he tends to the flowers and he talks to his family as they sleep.


	9. Leone is

...and he cleans the graves. Stacks rocks. Pulls weeds. Talks to them, even Giorno. He'll always feel guilty he spent the last few days of his life snarling at him.

He saves Bruno for last.

He sinks the ground, his knees protesting. It'll be hell trying to get up again but that's a problem for Future Leone.

"Buccellati," he says, " _Bruno_. I lied to you last year. I said I wouldn't be able to make the trip again but here I am. Fuck off death, you haven't got me yet."

He sets down the tray of cookies, takes one, rests his head against the gravestone. The summer's hot but the stone's cool.

"I know they're out of season but who the hell cares about season? _I_ don't."

He takes a nibble of the fig cookie and it tastes good because his husband only makes good things.

" _Damn_ , I wish you could taste this. Tonio sends his regards, by the way. I wish you could have met him. You'd love his squid tagliatelle. He makes an apple mascarpone cake and even _you_ would like it, that's how good he is."

"Shit would have gone pretty differently though if you could have met him. We wouldn't be _here_. And I know that only had two years with you but fuck it, we were great. _You_ were great. And maybe it wouldn't have worked out. Let's face it, darling, I was a _fuckhead_ back then. Pissed at the world, so I took it out on everyone else. Not you. Never you. But let's be honest, I wasn't great to be around sometimes. A lot of the time. You made me better. _You_ were my reason _to_ be better."

"I like to think we would have worked out. And if we had worked out, I wouldn't have _him_ , and isn't that just how it goes, huh? I want the barrel full and myself drunk and you can't have both at the same time. And I hated myself for a long time because I wanted both at the same time. Because I loved him. It felt like a betrayal of _both_ of you. But…he loved someone else too. _Loves_. And I'm glad they had each other and he's glad we had each other."

Another bite.

"…I don't really want to be drunk. Figure of speech. I've stayed sober fifty years. I just…I love him. I love you. I always will. I'm so thankful for those years I shared with _you_ and I'm so thankful for the years I've had with _him_ , and I feel like the two of you are both better than my sorry ass ever deserved, and if you were here, you'd tell me than I deserve so much more than I give myself credit for. And so would he. You'd _like_ him, Bruno. You'd like Tonio a lot."

And he eats and he feels the tightness in his chest lighten, but he can't rightfully say if it's because Pearl Jam's taking effect or if it's because talking to Bruno always takes the edge off the pain.

"This is some sappy shit, isn't it? I'm _old_ , Bruno. I'm _sentimental_. Who the hell thought _I_ would ever be this old? Fuck's sake, I have _grandchildren_. What the hell, when did this all happen?"

His lungs aren't exploding out of his mouth, so it really _is_ just the effect Bruno has on him. Tonio would never intrude on his time with him like that. He should have realized.

"They're running the restaurants now. It was time. I was a private detective for awhile, I've told you about that, and then I worked in the restaurants with him, I've told you about that too, and now we're retired. I thought I'd hate it but I don't. We moved back to Naples recently, so I guess you're going to be seeing a lot more of me. My life is so _boring_ now, Bruno. I wish you had the chance to have a boring life. I bake bread all day and do crosswords and complain about the youth. This fucker's _boring_."

And then Leone laughs.

"Though I guess I always did the last one. Point is, I'm old. I'm really, really old, Bruno. I wish you had that opportunity. Wish I got to see that. You'd be _great_ at this. You'll always be twenty and I'll always love you no matter what and as long as I'm alive and can still make the trip, I'll visit you. And you're just going to have to deal with an old goth eating cookies on your grave, okay? They're _so_ good."

"I'll leave a few for you. I know that the birds are just going to eat them but fuck it, you made me like buccellati, so you get some."

And Leone Trussardi sits. Remembers. Talks to his first love.

"Did you have a good visit?" Tonio asks later after he returns home. The smell of fresh-cut basil meant for pesto fills the air.

"I did, yeah. It's always good to talk to him," Leone says, a slight hitch in his voice, and his husband takes him into his arms before the tears start falling, kisses them away when they do.

" _Leone,_ tesoro…I understand."

"I know. I love you. It's just…it is what it is. I'm _old_ , Tonio. Old and sentimental. I don't want to leave you."


	10. Trish is

…and it wouldn't hurt so bad if she could just _talk_ about it with someone, but her mother's dead and the rest of her family is so distantly related to her that they may as well not count. She shared everything with her mother or, at least, _most_ things. The _important_ things.

And maybe in another life she would have shared things with her father, maybe in another life she would have _had_ a father, but in this one, she never did, never will. She had been content to live her life just knowing her mother. It's not as if she was missing anything by not having him around. The kids growing up teased her a little, sure, but kids can be nasty little things. They'll tease you no matter what. It didn't bother her.

After her mother dies, when Passione comes to ferry her away, she thinks for a moment that she might grow used to having a father. A mob boss, a terrible one, but he could be kind to her. He doesn't know her and she doesn't know him, but they might grow to love each other as father and daughter. Her mother died but she might gain someone new.

He isn't her father. He's just some _man_. Some nasty man that might have been charming once, might have danced with her mother once, but who's now twisted under his own selfish ambition. They share genetics but that didn't make Diavolo her _father_.

He's _stupid_. Just a stupid, greedy man that has nothing to do with her. Fucker. And the fact that he's so powerful and yet so _dumb_ pisses Trish off even more than if he had been powerful and cruel and _smart_. If he left well enough alone, then everything would have been _fine_. Why did he get it into his head that she was a _threat_ to him? He _made_ her a threat. If he had been a little smarter, he'd have just sent her away to another country with a new identity and he'd still be alive to sell cocaine or whatever it is that gangsters do all day. _She_ doesn't know. Her experience with gangsters is mostly watching them fall one by one.

It wouldn't have been fine. Her mother still would have been dead. But maybe the rest would have lived.

And she knows she only knew them for a few days. And she barely knew them. And she's still not sure what most of their first names even were. And she's still bitter _that man_ made them die for her.

She looks like him more with the passing of the years, especially when her jaw's set in anger. She wears her hair short because when it's long and loose, it reminds her of him. So she cuts it. Keeps it out of the way.

She gets the hell out of Italy. There's nothing left for her here except the uneasy knowledge that unknown stand users reside here. Before he died, Buccellati promised her a house. _His_ house. And she considers staying there, living a quiet life, and bothering no one, but she's got the itch to just take off and she does.

She visits before she leaves. Buccellati left enough cash and enough fake identities lying around to support her for years. She utters a thanks to him and departs.

Trish travels. The destination isn't particularly important, just that she gets there. She sees the world and, yeah, she's angry and maybe she'll always be angry (But is there anything _wrong_ with that? Doesn't she _deserve_ to be angry after all that's happened?) but there's still beauty to be found.

So she takes up photography. Documents the moment. The man who she shares half of her genetic structure with was obsessed with seeing into the future but she lives in the now.

And she's good at it. She doesn't know if she loves it but she's really good at it and she pays the bills with pictures, so she likes it well enough to pursue it as a professional career.

She rises in rank. Photographs for newspapers. One day, she's taking pictures at some event in the art world and sees a stand and suffice to say, she nearly softens Kishibe Rohan's skull.

He's a dick. Heart of brass at best. The first stand user she's ever met that has nothing to do whatsoever with Passione. She didn't know there were _others_.

"Oh, your story is _fascinating_ ," he says one day as he peruses her pages as casually as someone reading a fantasy novel and she doesn't know why she even agreed to this in the first place.

"Where will you end up, I wonder? May I use part of your story in my manga? My readers will _love_ you."

Right. Because she befriended this asshole and she wants to prove to herself that not all stand users are out to get her.

"Only if I get to approve of anything you use involving my life and if I get a cut of any merchandising."

"Deal."

And it's kind of nice to be friends with him, even if he's a prickly snob. It's kind of nice to be friends with another stand user. Because for the first time in a long while, she can _talk_ about this, she can tell someone just how _stupid_ Diavolo really was, she can make fun of the assassins who came for her.

She doesn't like to speak much about Buccellati and his gang. She _liked_ them. She keeps them for herself. They're not material for Rohan to use.

"Come to Japan," he says one day, "There's more of us there. You gave me _your_ story, I'll give you _mine_."

And she does because why not? She doesn't speak the language but Rohan has his tricks.

And it's good to find friends.

Good to know she's not the only one who's had fucked up shit happen to her.

Trish Una finds people again in Morioh.


	11. between the forest and the flowers

...and sometimes they all die. They know going in that they might die, know going into _any_ mission that they might not come back. You're supposed to close your eyes, hope for the best, and see what happens, but sometimes ill winds blow you astray.

And sometimes they don't _all_ die.

Sometimes it's just _most_ of them. One survivor left to remember and mourn, the rest cut down. Any death cuts deep but maybe it's better that _someone_ lives, even just one, but you can't really say anything that takes the sting out of being the last person alive

Sometimes it's only _one_ of them who dies.

Sometimes-

Trish, doesn't know what to expect when she reaches the top of the belfry. She rides up the elevator alone, her hands shaking, and she misses her mother.

The doors open.

"You have my apologies, Trish. I didn't know."

And Trish has a father: a mob boss, a terrible man, but kind to her, if no one else. He lies to himself and says he knows what he's doing, hopes that someday he'll _actually_ know what he's doing.

But he _tries_ , at least. Diavolo tries. Doppio tries. They're fucked up but sometimes they're not twisted beyond all hope.

Diavolo is on his knees before Gold Experience Requiem, utterly defeated, eyes blown wide. Giorno holds his life in his hands, can shatter it as easily as a mirror. Diavolo thought himself the emperor but now he truly knows that an emperor is still only a man.

He closes his eyes. Prepares himself for the inevitable.

"Do it, then. But leave my daughter out of this. She has nothing to do with what I've done."

His life, Giorno's hands. The gangster prince is free to do what he will with it. Diavolo has done so many things that deserve death, has carelessly destroyed so many lives.

But he pleads with him that he spare his daughter, and it's for this reason and this reason only that Giorno spares his life. And it's better than what he deserves. A devil with a daughter is still a devil, but after all the bloodshed it took to reach this point, maybe Giorno just doesn't want to orphan any girls today.

Which is not to say he goes unpunished. Diavolo will never tread except where Don Giovanna bids him to, will never speak except what Don Giovanna bids him to say, will never know life without his identity exposed. An attack dog kept on a tight leash.

And arguably Giorno becoming a mob boss isn't _really_ the happiest ending for him. He _could_ have a normal life free of constant danger, if not free of pain because pain comes for everyone.

But he's descended from Dio Brando, from Jonathan Joestar.

More importantly, he's _Giorno Giovanna_.

He chooses the danger.

So he claims the throne for his own, cleans house, excises the rot, reforms Passione.

Buccellati makes an _excellent_ underboss. Giorno does not know the harm Passione has wrought on the people as intimately and painfully as he does. Together they pick up the pieces and together they let in the light.

And Giorno is very thankful for Abbacchio and owes so much to his zeal to investigate the truth, to expose the curls of corruption at the edges of society. Giorno leads, Buccellati inspires, Abbacchio seeks.

Polnareff advises. Consigliere. He never expected that he'd wind up in the mafia (if Passione can rightly be called the mafia anymore) but his life has a habit of taking him down strange roads, so he's stopped expecting anything. The kids are alive. He doesn't see Kakyoin when he looks at them. And Polnareff is alive. Alive and decidedly mammalian.

Trish still goes to Morioh. She still takes pictures and she still nearly softens Kishibe Rohan's skull and it's good to find friends. She has people in Japan and she has people in Italy. She meets a nice boy who apparently burned down Rohan's house once and his gravel-voiced boyfriend, an angry girl whose hair slithers like snakes, a boy with a stand that also talks back, an actual alien, and more. Rohan gets married to an Italian chef who's probably better than his sorry ass deserves and she does photography at their wedding.

Guido Mista has people. He stays in Italy and, yes, he still goes where the wind takes him but then he gets on his motorcycle and comes back. And he slings bullets until one day he realizes that he doesn't want to die doing this shit, so he puts down his gun, retires from Passione, and winds up married one day with four children. It's a lucky number now.

Narancia goes back to school. Goes to college. Buccellati gives him his old house as a wedding gift and he keeps it clean and tidy. Narancia and Pannacotta make it their own. And he wears lipstick now but it's bright and loud and orange.

And yes, Pannacotta still cries sometimes. _Screams_. Not often these days. He thinks he's always going to have days like that but he has so many more happy days. He doesn't hate himself anymore. Maybe he even _likes_ himself. He works with Passione to protect abused children and finds so much meaning, so much purpose in his work. And no one forces him into being the smart one. No one forces him into being the angry one. He looks at himself and resolves to be the kind one.

And Bruno marries Leone in a sunny spot full of flowers and birdsong, kisses him a field of lavender, and they have so much more than a short span of only two years, so many decades to become old and boring together. They live amidst flowers and forest, their backyard full of myrtles and marigolds, peonies and oranges, lilies and lavender, and the bees dance in the breeze and the two make jam out of wild strawberries. Bruno tends the flowers and Leone pulls the weeds and their grandchildren eat fig cookies.

Maybe fate is fixed in stone. Or maybe it isn't. Giorno Giovanna used to believe in fate but he looks ahead of him and he sees a thousand roads his life could take. Maybe it doesn't matter if fate is real or if it isn't. He's alive. He exists. He'll see where he ends up and maybe someday he'll know if it was always inevitable.

Sometimes they all die. Sometimes it's just most of them. Sometimes it's only one.

But close your eyes.

Hope for the best.

See what happens.

Ride the wind.

 _Everyone lives_.


End file.
